


Just A Pretty Face

by markipwiwer



Category: Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Captive, Chains, Cutting, No actual stuff really, Torture, lead up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-17 01:56:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14823015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/markipwiwer/pseuds/markipwiwer
Summary: Wilford wants to get Anti a birthday present.





	Just A Pretty Face

Wilford had... played doctor enough to know what he was doing.

Not that it particularly mattered, because in this state, Jack wasn’t going to die and that was just the fun of it.

When Wilford reached back into the knowledge of the things he did in war, it was similar to regression. It was like he regressed into William.  
And although Wilford could be crazy and unhinged, he was usually easy to talk sense into. 

William was different. William still thought he was sane, so you couldn’t talk much sense into him. He’d insist that he was right, that the things he knew and saw were true.

So when Wilford sort of... ‘regressed’, he was difficult to reason with. He didn’t take no for an answer. He wanted what he wanted.

And right now, he wanted to cut Jack into tiny little pieces.

Jack had been ignoring Anti, making him feel inferior. He turned him into a joke on the channel. And it hurt Wilford to see Anti like that. Not to mention Jack was getting a little too popular for Wilfords liking, since Jack being more popular meant Mark becoming more irrelevant, and if Mark was irrelevant then Wilford certainly wasn’t important.

So once Anti figured out how to exist as his own being without needing Jack as a host, Wilford decided there was no benefit in keeping him around any more.

Wilford had made this space all for them, really. On the outside, it was a warehouse, small, but secluded and sound proofed for good measure. On the inside, it looked almost homely. The chains around Jacks wrists and ankles looked slightly out of place compared to the rest of the room, which warped slightly around Jack, making him feel a little nauseous. As if he didn’t feel sick enough with the situation.

It was lit almost exclusively by the fire burning in the fire place, which would have looked warm and welcoming in any other context. There was a coat rack, although Jack couldn’t entirely make out what was hanging from it - he considered it to be not dangerous and his brain skipped past analysing it any further - and anyone would have thought it was Christmas, though from what Jack could tell, it was only October.

He was proven at least close to right when he noticed a calendar hanging by the fireplace, which had a big heart drawn around the 10th of October, and the 13th was completely blacked out with marker.

Wilford bustled about, getting things ready, it seemed. For what, Jack didn’t really want to know. But as if on queue, Wilford spoke up.

“Do you know what time of year it is, Jack?”

It shocked Jack out of his trace and he had to actually think about his answer.

“...it’s nearly Halloween.”

“That’s correct! But there’s something more significant happening this month, I’m sure you must know!”

Wilford sounded chipper and giddy in a way that was incredibly off putting.

Jack fell silent, nothing else coming to mind despite the dates on the calendars. Eventually, when he saw Wilford pause in his peripherals to look at him, he shook his head.

“It’s Antis birthday, of course!”

Oh. That made sense with the heart, then.

Jack had been vaguely aware of Anti being in cahoots with the Ipliers, and he deliberately avoided the details because he really didn’t want to think about what they all got up to. Him and Wilford and Dark and... God knows who else.

Jack had deliberately tried to distance himself from the Egos, more than Mark ever had. And Wilford found it incredibly rude.

“And I’ve come up with the perfect birthday gift. Do you know what it is?”

Jack shrugged his shoulders the best he could, numbing himself from the situation.

“Your eyes.”

Jack looked up at Wilford with a combination of shock and disbelief, fear not entirely having set in yet as a constant. His adrenaline had run its course when he originally found himself chained, when he had tried to pull and escape, and his wrists were still raw. But now he was just... tired. And not okay.

Wilford continued.

“It’s not like you’ll need them any more, I’m sure he’d appreciate the sentiment, parting with his old host and whatnot.”

Wilford waved his hand about, punctuating the sentence, and then a knife appeared in his hand. It almost faded in, with more glitter. Jack had forgotten that was something Wilford could do.

“Why?”

It was all Jack could think of to say, and his voice cracked, but fuck being embarrassed about that now. 

Wilford couldn’t tell if Jack was asking why he was taking his eyes or why he wouldn’t need them, so he decided to answer both.

“You’re getting too big, hot shot! I’m not about to have my livelihood, my spotlight threatened by some... some KID who used to look up to us!”

Jack assumed Wilford was referring to himself and Mark. After all, Wilford had something of a superiority complex over that. Being the first real, established Ego and all that.

Wilford walked towards Jack, in a sultry sort of manner. The kind of sultry that only Wilford Warfstache could make look threatening despite how camp and ridiculous it could seem.

“If nothing else, I’m grateful that my beautiful Anti got to inherit such a pretty face.”

Okay, wow. That was a backhanded compliment. The confusion must have shown on Jacks face because Wilford chuckled.

“I’m sure you know people just watch you because you’re attractive, because they like seeing pretty people suffer. And that’s all you are, Jack.”

Wilfords tone grew sinister, like a switch was flipped in him, and his knife was at Jacks neck.

“You’re nothing but a pretty face. That’s why they love you. And I’m sick of it. I’m sick of it. You tried to play God and you created lives, you created people and you threw them aside like it was nothing! And you hurt him. You hurt Anti by doing that...”

Wilford grabbed the back of Jacks head, yanking him back by his hair, the knife already digging into his neck.

Wilford clearly had some pent up issues about this.

“I’m going to make sure that when people think of you and your last moments, they’ll think how ugly and horrible and broken you were. Just the way you tried to make him.”

The knife lifted from Jacks neck and he felt a sharp, seething slicing pain down his cheek. Wilford was already taking his time, using his magic to keep Jack alive.

This was going to take a while.

**Author's Note:**

> Have you got an idea or a request for a fic? Come shoot me a message at markipwiwer.tumblr.com!
> 
> If you like what I do, please consider supporting me at www.ko-fi.com/markipwiwer!


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